It wasn't a BAD idea

One year when I was but a (mouthy) teenager, my Dad caught the flu before Christmas. As I'm sure all of you with children know, once one in the herd is infected, it spreads like wildfire. Well this particular Christmas, my Mother was having none of it. She promptly, without a bash of the eyelashes, checked him in to a hotel and stuffed it with movies, soup, and Gatorade. We didn't see Dad for a week or so there. And we teased our Mother mercilessly about it. (because really, we were kinda scared to get sick! Who would warm up our canned soup if we got sick?! It all seemed a little inhumane from our perspectives!)

And even still if anyone in the house gets the sniffles, there's always the giggled joke about getting the sickie a room.

Last weekend, The Husband brought home a cold from work. He spent the weekend lazing about, and I can't say that the idea of dropping him off at a cheap motel with a package of Sudafed and Gatorade didn't have it's merits. It's just that... when you tease your Mom for so long, it gets hard to jump right into total and utter hypocrisy.

Then again, I thought we had all managed the impossible. Escaping the cold that The Husband brought home on a cold winter's night. Never before have I lamented not pulling that trigger so mightily. One bright and early morning, all four of us, Little Man, both of the twins, and myself... woke up so ridiculously sick. All at once.

My friends. It simply is not worth it. While I sit here and type, my nose is dripping like a faucet, I've had about 2 hours total sleep, and the baby is upstairs wailing away. Everyone is miserable. I would say the baby moreso than anyone else. His refusing to sleep due to the uncomfortable feeling of a brain full of snot is driving him to scream all day long. (undoubtedly doing wonders for his sore throat)

At this point, had I been blessed with the ability to foresee the future, I would have put The Sick Husband in any hotel room available. Even if it had cost a small fortune.

Because inevitably, I wound up at the grocery store in my pajamas wishing the powers-that-be would just let the teenagers make meth and leave me alone. Each time I find myself in the cold/flu aisle, the song and dance to obtain adequate cold medicine becomes more and more complex! I plopped all three of my giant snot buckets of misery in a shopping cart and waited for what seemed like HOURS while I filled out paperwork, the pharmacist typed in my entire driver's licence, all while noticing the large closed circuit TVs broadcasting my haggard and makeupless appearance to all the unfortunate Smith's shoppers.

I have a cold. I just want a small box of medicine. Please. Let the teenagers make all the meth (or whatever) they want in their garages with the stuff! Last spring I had to hand over my ID when I bought seeds for the rosebush that never grew. The kids are making drugs out of the rose seeds. Obviously, the kids are going to make anything and everything into drugs for themselves. That's called Natural Selection. The people who aren't dumb enough to sniff rose seeds win! (and yes, I am aware of the stone cold ice heart this paints me out to have)

All of this could have been avoided with one measley hotel room. Next time I will have the courage to push my inner caregiver instincts aside and fling the next sickie into a paid quarantine situation. I hate to say it, but: sorry, Mom. You were right. (notice the pigs flying up ahead)

Also? Why does NyQuil Cold completely lack the ability to abate ANY cold symptoms? Plus it gave me nightmares of finding mice in my bed, driving myself off a ravine, and other assorted nighttime terrors. I hate you, NyQuil.

Also? I want a sick day. (or two) Where are the request forms?

Also? We are all still alive. Please stay away from our infected dwelling of sickness and sorrow for the next few days.